You Don't Know It's Right Until It's Wrong
by leavesandkings
Summary: Seven times Amanda is in denial and one time she tells the truth


Disclaimer - I don't own anything.

Spoilers through S16

xxx

They're sisters, with a long history of shared meals that usually consisted of peanut butter on Ritz Crackers or bowls of Cap n' Crunch because their mother was too busy entertaining a new boyfriend to put anything resembling a hot dinner on the table, so eating together shouldn't feel weird, and yet everything about sitting across her small dining table from Kim feels strange, like it's something that she's forgotten how to do.

It probably doesn't help that she's barely managed two bites of her pizza before her phone rings and it's work on the other end of the line, reminding them both of just how different things between them are now than when they were little girls with messy braids and skinned knees.

Kim actually seems seriously put out by the whole thing, sullenly sipping from her beer bottle and rolling her eyes when Amanda says, "I've got to take this."

Maybe what's so unsettling about having Kim is New York is the idea that her past, the old life that she worked so hard to leave behind in Atlanta, can still reach her all the way up here, like she'll never really be able to escape it.

So she turns her back on her sister and listens as Nick tells her that Fin got stuck at Rikers and they won't be able to talk to their hacker until the morning. She can hear the frustration in his voice, feels it pricking at her own skin, because a little girl is missing and they're just standing around, spinning their wheels in the sand.

"Fin wanted me to tell you," Nick's saying now, sounding a little hoarse. "He said you have some stuff going on and he didn't want you to rush back for nothing."

"Okay," she sighs. "Fine."

The line crackles with silence for a long moment, and she can hear Kim behind her, flipping the cap from beer bottle against the table over and over. The sound is like a needle twisting in Amanda's brain, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

"Everything okay?" Nick asks then, as if he can read her mood over the phone, and she nods almost defiantly, even though he can't see her.

"Yeah, fine. Thanks for calling, Nick."

She disconnects the call before he can respond because she is already out of sorts, thinking about Emily and her sister and how complicated those relationships can be, and she doesn't need a co-worker playing amateur shrink with her. She turns back to the table, watching as Kim reaches for another slice of pizza.

"Who's Nick?"

Amanda frowns, trying to ignore how thin her sister looks, how sharp the angles of her face are and how loose her clothes fall around her.

"Oh, um… nobody," she says absently as she sits down again. "Just someone I work with. Another detective."

Kim cocks her head, smirking knowingly.

"Is he hot?"

The question catches Amanda completely off-guard because she is thinking about kiddie porn rings and missing girls and all the ways a life can go wrong, so whether a co-worker is attractive or not is nothing but absurd.

"What?" she half laughs, half sighs. "I don't know."

Kim points at her, a greasy napkin clutched in her fist as she grins.

"Oh, my God! Look at your face! He is. He's totally hot."

Amanda fidgets with the paper plate that holds her pizza and avoids her sister's eyes.

"He's totally married," she counters.

"So? When has that ever stopped anybody?"

"It's not like that. We just work together. That's all."

"Okay," Kim says. "But he's totally hot, so I bet you've thought about it. I mean, it's not like you've got a guy up here, right? And you work with him every day so things probably occur to you… like maybe the two of you putting your handcuffs to better use.."

Amanda ducks her head, so her hair falls across her face and hides her warm cheeks – because sure, she's not dead and she's sort of noticed that Nick's got a nice smile and dark, soulful eyes and that there's some sort of intense spark whenever they disagree about anything and all of that is more than enough to fuel a fantasy or two.

"It's not like that," she says again. "Besides, he … he's kind of a stick in the mud. All prim and proper and ready for the sainthood."

"Well, that's a bummer," Kim sighs. She reaches for another beer, using the edge of her shirt to twist off the cap. "But then, maybe that's even more fun. Getting a buttoned-up guy like that to let loose…"

Amanda ignores her, gathering up the crumpled napkins and dirty plates and tossing them inside the pizza box.

It's going to be a long night.

xxx

When she slides into the passenger seat of the car, she still feels like a scolded kid who got sent to the principal's office for not playing nice with others.

She is embarrassed that she let even a tiny piece of her personal life sneak onto the job, that she let her emotions get the better of her so that she would yell at a co-worker loud enough for the entire precinct to hear, but the fact that the Captain felt the need to check that everything is okay between her and Nick makes it even worse. Her cheeks feel warm and there's an itch beneath her skin to check the odds on the Jets/Falcons game, play some cards, or throw money down on a race.

Beside her, Fin starts the engine and plays around with the radio until he finally finds a song he likes. At the very first stop light, though, he sneaks a quick look at her and smirks.

"Okay," he says. "It's just me and you now so you can tell the truth. What's going on with you and Amaro?"

She lifts her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug, hoping she doesn't look as guilty as she feels.

"What'd you mean? I apologized. I know he probably doesn't believe it but —"

Fin shakes his head, cutting her off.

"No, I get all that. But there's definitely something going on with you two. The way you guys went at it…" He whistles, low and long. "That's not how two co-workers usually fight."

She knows she's probably blushing, but she still turns to gape at him like he's lost his damn mind.

"I don't know what you're gettin' at, Fin, but there's nothing going on with me and Nick. He's married, for Chrissake."

Fin shrugs as he hits the gas again.

"That's on its last leg."

There's probably some truth to that, she knows – because women who are committed to their marriage don't usually take their kid and move two hundred miles away from their husband – but it's really none of her concern. Nick's life is his own, and just as he has no business poking around in her private life, she has no right to think about his either.

"Wanna know what I think?" Fin asks, and the saucy, little lilt to his voice makes it very obvious that she doesn't want to know in the least.

"Not especially," she says, all faux sweetness.

"It's all about frustration. You guys fight like that because you really wanna be sc—"

"Don't finish that sentence," she snaps. "Not if you value your life."

But Fin obviously isn't afraid – he grins behind the steering wheel like he knows something that she doesn't, which only annoys her more. She plays with a loose thread at the hem of her shirt, trying to distract herself. Fin starts humming along with the song on the radio, and she knows that she should just let it go, but she can't for some reason.

"Fin," she sighs. "There's a better chance of something happenin' between you and me than between me and Nick."

Fin laughs, slapping a hand against the wheel.

"Wow. I didn't realize my chances of gettin' lucky were that good."

Somehow, she resists the urge to smack him and send them both careening into oncoming traffic. Instead, she stares at the window at the passing scenery, determined to give him the silent treatment for at least the next half hour.

Fin hates that.

xxx

When she stops to think about how close she came to losing everything that still means anything to her, it is terrifying.

She is the luckiest woman alive – because if Murphy hadn't been UC at the club, things would have wound up going very differently. She can't pretend otherwise – and she has so much to answer for.

She hangs back at the gallery, trying to stay out of the way of the officers at work. If it is was possible, she would disappear again. But she's already pulled the disappearing act in Atlanta; she doesn't think she has it in her to start over again. She looks up and spots Murphy strolling over toward her. He's actually done his job, making sure Nadari and Vaughn are in custody and headed off to the Tombs, which only makes her feel guiltier.

"Okay," he says. "So here's how it's gonna go – we've got a meeting tomorrow morning at 9 with IA. Don't be late. I've got your back, all right? But you've got to hold up your end. You've got to get—"

"I know, I know," she says, nodding her head furiously. "I will. Thank you."

He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives her a brisk nod.

"Good. All right then. See you in the morning."

She takes a deep breath, already trying to steel herself for what's in store for her – having to explain herself to Olivia, to Fin and Nick, is bad enough, but she actually has to do the hard work of managing her problem, of finding a way to get it under control again. She doesn't have much faith in sponsors these days either, considering what happened with Nate, so she feels like she's on her own this time.

She doesn't make much progress in bolstering herself when Murphy stops suddenly and turns back to her.

"One more thing," he says. "A piece of friendly advice, okay?"

She nods, wondering if he's somehow read her mind. Maybe he knows something about kicking addiction that he's willing to share – she can use all the help she can get.

"Keep your boyfriend on a tighter leash," he tells her. "I'm sure he thinks defending your honor is romantic, but he's gonna wind up getting his ass killed and then you'll be wishing he just bought some damn flowers."

She blinks in confusion.

"What are you…"

"I pulled his jacket," Murphy continues. "Seems like a good cop. I know there was that business with the shooting a couple months back, but that looks more like bad luck than anything else."

She furrows her brow, the picture finally coming together.

"Are you talking about Nick?"

Murphy cocks his head, like he's trying to remember precise details.

"Yeah. Amaro. Nick Amaro from SVU."

She should have little pride left after everything that Murphy knows about her, but she feels herself blush anyway.

"Look, I don't know what you've heard, but Nick and I just work together. That's it."

Murphy shoots her a skeptical smile.

"He came down to the club the other night and sucker punched me. I've liked plenty of my co-workers over the years, but buying them a cup of Joe is as big a gesture as I was willing to make."

She can't say she's entirely surprised that Nick poked around in this mess – he did the same thing with Nate, after all – but she isn't in any place where she can analyze what that means, why he always winds up trying to play hero for her. There's just too much other stuff bouncing around inside her head.

"He's not my boyfriend," she says quietly. "It's not like that. It's never been like that."

Murphy stares at her for a long moment, and it feels a bit like being under a microscope, the scrutiny a little more than she can take right now.

"Okay then. My mistake. But…"

He hesitates, like he isn't sure she can handle whatever it is he's about to say.

"But what?" she prods, feeling a little testy.

"You think he knows that?"

He raises his brows pointedly, and she must shoot him a deadly glare because he starts to back away, hands held up as in surrender.

"Forget it. Forget I said anything. I'll see you in the morning. 9 a.m. sharp."

She lowers her head and takes a deep breath as he walks away. She has real things to worry about tonight, the fate of entire career, so she shakes her head, as if to erase the last bit of their conversation, and starts to make her way home.

xxx

If she'd stopped to think about this moment beforehand, she probably wouldn't have done it.

Which would have been a real shame because sex with Nick Amaro is something that she enthusiastically and whole-heartedly recommends.

But there's all this awkwardness now that the deed is well and thoroughly done that's marring what was otherwise a first-class experience.

She lies on her back, trying to catch her breath as she contemplates her water-marked bedroom ceiling like all of life's mysteries might be found somewhere in the stains' patterns. Her bare arm is pressed all warm and sweaty against Nick's because he is mirroring her posture exactly, and she risks a small glance at him from the corner of her eye. His expression, a little nervous and a lot dazed, seems to confirm that he's feeling the same way she is. She watches his chest rise and fall with each heavy breath and wills herself to relax.

Until Nick clears his throat and her heart starts pounding all over again.

"That was …"

He trails off, the word for whatever it was obviously escaping him, and she finds herself laughing, partly out of nervousness and partly because everything about this situation is kind of ridiculous.

He's still technically married, she's trying desperately to stay on the straight and narrow with her gambling, they work together in a pretty emotionally-charged environment, and they fight like cats and dogs most days – how could this be anything other than nuts?

She thinks back to what Fin suggested once upon a time – that all their fighting was the product of sexual frustration – and wonders if maybe now they'll actually be able to get along without barking at each other on the floor of the squad room on a regular basis.

Maybe tonight could even be considered a team-building exercise.

She's not about to ask Nick what he thinks about that, though.

"It was," she says instead, agreeing with his unspoken assessment.

He turns his head to look at her and she does the same and they wind up grinning at one another across the pillows. The sweat along his collar bone shimmers in the dim overhead light and all she wants to do is roll over and lick it away. Nick trails a finger over her forearm and it takes everything in her not to squirm against the bed like a fire's been lit under her skin.

"Do we need to talk about this?" he asks softly, carefully. "About what it means?"

The question surprises her, and she finds herself twisting her fingers in the sheets just for something to do. She figured that they would see eye to eye on this, to not acknowledge that anything had really happened here – and deciding not to talk about it is still talking about it. She shakes her head against the pillow, managing a tight smile.

"It's not necessary," she tells him. "I'm a big girl. I'm not expecting this to—"

"No, no. I know. I just don't wanna get our signals crossed or anything. Because with work and everything, it could be trouble. Big trouble."

She thinks about it then - having to sit across from him in the squad room day after day, interrogate a cranky witness with him breathing down her neck, ride beside him to a crime scene or neighborhood canvas, shoot at a perp with his life on the line, now that they've slept together, that they've acted on whatever it is between that's been unspoken for so long, and she swears that her hands start to shake a little.

She grips the sheets a little harder to steady herself.

"It's fine, Nick. Really."

He eyes her for a long minute, not entirely convinced, and she conjures up a smile to put him at ease. He nods eventually, and then his fingers trail down her arm again, twisting through hers, and before she realizes what's happening, she's kissing him again, like nothing else matters.

xxx

She checks the time on her phone for the fifth time in less than three minutes and paces the hallway again.

She should have more patience, considering that Munch is dropping everything to come down here and help Nick, but he was supposed to be here almost ten minutes ago and she's starting to wear a groove in the cheap linoleum beneath her feet. It doesn't help that she knows Nick is expecting her visit and she hates keeping him waiting.

Fuck, this whole thing is such an unbelievable mess.

Because Nick is locked up in a cell while that sick freak Wilkes is out there free and she knows that he technically broke the law but sometimes the law isn't what it should be and there's still nothing that she can do for him.

She checks the time again and is ready to call Munch to see what's keeping him when he breezes through the door, his black trench coat flapping behind him like a cape.

"Sorry, sorry," he says. "Traffic was pain in the tuches."

She smiles.

"It's okay. Better late than never."

Munch nods solemnly.

"How's he doing?"

Amanda leans back against the wall and sighs.

"I feel like he's barely hanging on and I don't really know what to say to him… or do for him. It's like I'm completely useless."

Munch reaches out and squeezes his arm.

"You're here fighting for him, Amanda. You're doing plenty."

She lowers her head, studying the cracked tile beneath her feet.

"Okay, well, let me go in and talk to him first… and then maybe you come in in like five minutes?"

"Sounds good."

She nods, standing up straight again. She smooths her hands over her jacket and takes a deep breath as she tries to ready herself to see Nick in that ugly orange jumpsuit again.

"It's okay, Amanda," Munch says, obviously picking up on her mood. "We're going to figure all of this out."

Maybe it's because she's been arrested herself and knows how awful and cold it feels to sit behind those steel bars, but right now, it's hard to imagine any of this working out.

"I just hate having to leave him here," she whispers. "All alone."

Munch smiles, all soft and gentle, and pats her shoulder.

"You won't have to. I paid his bail. He can go home today."

For the first time all morning, she smiles without having to force it – she even thinks about throwing her arms around Munch and hugging him for all he's worth, but somehow, she manages to control herself.

"Munch," she half laughs, half sighs. "That's amazing. That's just… thank you."

She squeezes his hand in gratitude, and he studies her face for a long moment that makes her a little uncomfortable.

"This means a lot to you," he says.

She shrugs, trying to discreetly wipe at her eyes which are suddenly a little teary.

"Sure. Nick's a co-worker, a friend. I want to help him however I can."

Munch makes a show of looking around at the empty hallway.

"But you're the only here," he points out. "Liv's his friend. So is Fin. But they're not here. You are."

"They're busy. We're working a difficult case with—"

"You made the time," Munch says.

She laughs half-heartedly, feeling cornered. He lowers his head, looking at her over the rim of his glasses, and it's like he can see right through her.

"I don't know what you're implying, but it's not… it's just…" She exhales heavily. "Nick would do the same for me," she finally says. "So I'm just kind of returning the favor."

Munch bobs his head in apparent agreement.

"You're right. He would do it for you."

His tone is so serious and heavy that she knows he is trying to tell her something, but she can't really listen to it right now. She just nods briskly and turns to go meet Nick.

xxx

She has a bad feeling about this case, about Adam Brubeck, about exactly what they're about to uncover, but she has to be honest – she feels better just knowing that Nick is back on the job.

It's like she can rest a little easier or something – and it's really nothing against Carisi. He means well, she thinks, but she knows exactly how Nick works and how to trust him and that's not something that comes easy.

She looks at Carisi across the elevator now, pressing the button for Barba's floor, and tries to imagine ever feeling about him the way that she does for Nick or Fin or even Olivia, and it seems impossible. She thinks of Nick, who's outside right now, calling to check up on Zara who's dealing with a pretty bad case of strep throat, and decides that maybe it's not really fair to lump him in with the others – because things between them are certainly a little more complicated.

Carisi clears his throat suddenly and she lazily looks up at him.

"So," he says. "You and Amaro?"

She blinks, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that he can read her mind.

"Excuse me?"

He shrugs, leaning back against the elevator wall.

"You two got something going on?"

She shakes her head a little too vehemently and curls her hand into a fist to remind herself to play it cool.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Carisi shoots her a know-it-all grin and shrugs.

"Don't act like I'm crazy, Rollins. It's common knowledge that you're his big defender and you two looked pretty cozy in that cabana earlier..."

She could kick herself for being so damn obvious – she's only known Carisi for a few weeks and he's barely spent an hour and a half around her and Nick, but apparently, that's all it took for him to pick up on the fact that maybe there's a little more between she and Nick than meets the eye.

But they were only talking and it was about the case, so she tells herself that her indignation is well-deserved.

"You are crazy, Carisi," she says, trying for a casual tone. "Because we're just friends."

He cocks his head, looking plenty skeptical – so she feels the need to explain a little more.

"Look, you've only been at SVU for a month so maybe you don't understand yet. But Nick and Fin and Liv and I have been working together for years now so we've always got each others' backs. I mean, in the time you've been here, you've spent more time with me than your own family, right?"

Carisi squints, like he's considering the situation very carefully. Eventually, he sort of nods so she thinks that maybe he's buying it.

"Okay, sure. I see what you mean." He pauses, smirking. "And I didn't really have Amaro pegged as your type anyway."

She laughs a little, almost despite herself - because she's never really thought of herself as having a type.

In high school, she went through a few athletes – a tight end from the football team, the shortstop for the varsity baseball team, and one of the point guards from the travel basketball team – but by college, she'd moved on to more sensitive guys, like the English major with the shaggy hair who wrote all that poetry and Jonah who was always playing his guitar, bare-chested, under the trees on the quad. Her first year on the job in Atlanta, she'd dated a pretty straight-laced CPA and an EMT who raced dirt bikes on his off hours. In New York, there was the guy who loved terrible Will Ferrell movies and video games and then the ad exec who always insisted on pretentious films with sub-titles and expensive bottles of wine over a nice cold beer. Nate sold the whole sensitive, supportive, enlightened guy routine, but under it all, he was just an asshole, looking to get laid.

She doesn't even know how to begin to classify Nick.

In her mind, he exists on some fluctuating scale between Bruce Banner and the Hulk – calm, mild-mannered, and highly principled most of the time, but full of unrestrained chaos and fury when pushed to the edge. She wonders sometimes if she's drawn to that, excited by the idea of what he might be capable of.

"What does that mean?" she asks Carisi, trying not to give away how interested she is in his answer.

"I don't know. It's just you… and I mean this as a compliment, so don't take it the wrong way, okay? But you've got a pretty strong personality, so I guess I see you with someone more laidback… you know, passive."

She laughs, because otherwise, she might just take offense.

"Oh, what? So I can wear the pants?"

Carisi holds his hands up defensively.

"Hey, come on. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just an observation… and really, it was more about Amaro than you. He's just got that whole macho thing going on. He's wound a little too tight for you, that's all."

She smiles, not sure how else to react - and as soon as the elevator chimes and the doors open, she bolts for Barba's office like her feet are on fire.

xxx

She isn't surprised when there's a knock on door just after nine, but that doesn't mean she's happy about it.

He didn't call to tell her he was stopping by because he's smart enough to know that she wouldn't have let him in if she had any warning. Now, despite the fact that she's curled up on the couch under a blanket with Frannie, she feels strangely guilty about leaving him out in the hallway, particularly when he's just trying to be nice.

So she lets him into her apartment, gets him a beer, and even invites him to sit down on the sofa, with Frannie serving as a pretty safe buffer on the cushions between them.

"Liv says you're taking some time off," he says, after taking a sip of his beer.

She nods.

"I don't think it's mandatory, exactly, but it seemed like it was pretty strongly advised."

Nick smiles.

"She's just looking out for you. That's all."

Like you are, Amanda thinks. And she knows that it's true, and maybe she appreciates all of it more than she could have a year or so ago, but there's still some part of her that bristles at all this care-taking, all this handling her with kid gloves.

Paton has finally gone back to Atlanta – in disgrace, if not leg irons. That should probably make her feel better - and it does in a way - but the fact that her past came rearing its ugly head for everyone to see, that the neat, clean life she's tried to fashion for herself here in New York got all muddied by that painful part of her history is hard to take.

She sips from her beer and tells herself that everything is going to settle back in place again soon – and she can admit that getting away for a while is probably the best way to help that along.

Beside her, Nick turns, angling himself toward her, and she can tell from the serious look in his eyes that he's about to say something that's uncomfortable to hear.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks gently. "Did you think I'd blame you? That I—"

"No," she says without hesitation. "No. Of course not."

He nods, picking at the label on his beer.

"So why didn't you then?"

She considers the question for a moment. The truth – that all the shame she felt kept from telling anyone about it, from even acknowledging it to herself most days - would be probably be the easiest answer, but she isn't ready for that.

Maybe she'll never be.

"Why would I?" she asks instead. "I mean, I never told Fin. I never told Olivia."

He smiles, but it's pained and sad, so it almost hurts to look at him.

"Amanda," he says patiently, in probably the same tone that he uses with Zara and Gil when they try to get away with something absolutely ridiculous. "That's not the same."

She reaches out to scratch Frannie behind her ears just for something to do.

"Isn't it? We work together, Nick. That's the truth."

He laughs, all dark and humorless, and she takes a long sip of beer to calm her nerves. She's never expected some kind of happily ever after for them, hasn't been dreaming of some future with a white picket fence, and she's always known that this thing is going to end someday, probably without much fanfare. Maybe some days, she thinks it would easier if she just threw the grenade herself instead of waiting for it to implode all on its own.

"Whatever else is going on here," Nick says carefully. "We're also friends. Aren't we?"

As if sensing that she's intruding on something, Frannie hops off the couch and trots into the bedroom. Amanda looks over at Nick, who's watching her closely, and doesn't know how to answer. She leans back against the cushions, clutching the beer bottle to her chest. He must realize that she's not going to answer the question because he leans back too and exhales wearily.

When he leaves, she kisses his cheek, like that'll make up for whatever she hasn't said.

xxx

It was just this morning, barely ten hours ago, when she was making her bed and shook out the blankets to have one of the ridiculous Derek Jeter socks that Gil gave Nick come fluttering to the floor like some kind of mutant snowflake.

She'd laughed when she found it, throwing it in her laundry basket alongside her clothes even though she had no idea where the other one was, and made a mental note to tease him about it later.

Now, she sits alone in the interrogation room, trying to keep her breathing slow and even so she can hold it all together. He's been missing for just over four hours, and she tells herself that's really not that long, but with every second that ticks away, the picture seems to go grim and she feels so strangely numb that she can barely move.

Maybe because all of this feels like her fault.

She should have gone with him to interview the witness – if he'd had backup, he wouldn't be missing now; she is as certain about that as she's ever been about anything – but she'd wanted to check in with Fin and Nick insisted he could handle it by himself.

The last thing he said to her, in that teasing, affectionate tone that she only ever hears in private, was "You're always getting me into trouble, aren't you?"

She closes her eyes and presses a hand to her forehead, trying to tame the ache there. The door to the interrogation room creaks open then, and she looks up to find Olivia slowly making her way inside. She closes the door behind her, giving them privacy, and Amanda sits up straight, hoping she looks calmer than she feels.

"Sorry, Sarge," she says. "I just needed a minute."

It's as honest as she can be right now. Olivia nods and pulls out the chair on the other side of the table, so she can sit.

"We're going to find him, Amanda. And he's going to be fine."

She says it as if it is a statement of fact and not just a whole lot of wishful thinking. Amanda isn't sure if Olivia is saying to reassure herself or Amanda, but she latches onto it, trying like hell to believe. She's told herself over and over again that Nick is much more valuable alive than he is dead, but the perp in question has already killed a co-worker so there's no telling how this is going to end.

She nods anyway, though – faking it until she's making it, as Kim always used to say.

"But I wanted to tell you," Olivia continues, her voice low and gentle. "That if you need to step back here, that's all right. We can handle things, okay?"

Immediately, Amanda stiffens, her mouth twisting into a scowl.

"Are you asking Fin and Carisi if they need to step back too?"

Olivia smiles softly, shaking her head.

"Amanda," she says softly. "I'm not an idiot. I have eyes. I know you and Nick are…"

She trails off and Amanda wonders exactly how she planned to finish that thought.

Because what the hell are they?

Co-workers? Friends? Two people who fuck one another senseless when the rest of the world gets to be a little too much?

Without any warning, she starts to laugh, even as she feels tears prick at her eyes, because the universe has a pretty twisted sense of humor that even she can appreciate. Olivia looks at her with concern, probably trying to figure out if a strait-jacket is in order.

"What?" Amanda finally asks. "Me and Nick are what? Please tell me… because I sure as hell don't know."

Olivia nods slowly, like she understands perfectly what's going on here.

"When we find him," she says. "You can ask him. Or tell him."

Amanda sighs and tries to imagine that conversation, how awkward and uncomfortable it'll be, how she'll stumble over words and feels her cheeks on fire – but she makes a promise to herself.

If he's okay at the end of all of this, she will do it.

She'll tell him.

She looks across the table at Olivia, her boss and maybe friend, and feels the pressing need to explain somehow.

"We didn't mean to… I mean, it's not like we planned it. It just sort of happened."

Olivia shakes her head.

"The less I know about this, the better."

Which is obviously true – because there are blatantly flouting departmental regulations and as their superior, Olivia should report them. But she won't, not unless she absolutely has to – and Amanda appreciates that, so she should just keep her mouth shut and make it easier for Liv to look the other way.

She just can't seem to help herself, though.

"I screwed everything up," she whispers. "Because I just couldn't tell him the truth. And now I'm afraid that I'm never gonna get the chance."

"You can't give—"

The door bangs open suddenly, and Fin pokes his head in.

"We've got a lead," he announces, and just like that, Olivia springs up out of her chair and follows him into the squad room.

It takes a second for Amanda to get herself together, to get her legs to actually follow the message from her brain to start moving.

Once she does, though, she doesn't look back.

She's got a promise to keep.

xxx


End file.
